


From These Emerald Waters

by alacarton



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alacarton/pseuds/alacarton
Summary: CURRENTLY UNDERGOING UPDATING WORKS BEFORE HIATUS ENDS AND A NEW CHAPTER IS POSTED.'From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.In my arms lies Eternity.'- Andraste 14:11She wonders how she could possibly manage adding 'mother' to her list of titles.  He believes his sins are too great. The rest of Skyhold awaits with baited breath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This entire piece came from a Tumblr discussion about realistic pregnancy discussion in fiction, and then it just kind of...grew arms and legs, as they often do.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the brilliant @heffalumps. Thank you, my love <3

One thing they had always had were secrets.

The secret nights they spent curled together, hidden away in the loft of his tower. The secret words, whispered in hushed tones between them: confessions of love, admissions of fear, shared jokes and subtle commentary. Maker, their _marriage_ was a still a secret to almost all the world, bar their closest friends and confidantes. 

This particular secret, however, they alone had shared for the past few months. Their late-night talks often included discussion of when exactly was the right time to break the news to those at Skyhold and beyond, yet there had been no easy answer. In truth, he was anxious, and she afraid - this was _different_. The _right time_ to tell had yet to present itself. And thus the secret remained.

At least, it remained until the morning that her cloak was _too_ tight, and not a single catch on her largest pair of leathers would close over, not even the final hook she had been relying upon for the past two weeks. Even her casual clothes no longer fit, looking in parts too small and in others entirely the wrong shape, and anything that placed even the smallest amount of pressure around her chest seemed to triple the heartburn that plagued her. Her wedding band was growing increasingly tight, and dare she even mention trying to squeeze painfully swollen feet into those _goddamn boots._ Elicia was _exhausted_ , her back ached, and even a sniff of the food in the Great Hall too early in the morning was still enough to send her running in the opposite direction.

It seemed half of Orlais had descended for these talks, talks Josephine had insisted upon weeks ago. There were questions - weren’t there always? For what did it mean to have the Inquisition as a peacekeeping force? What law were they bound by? Had they simply become the zealous militant arm of the Chantry once more, filling the hole left by the Templar Order’s dissolution? Even Divine Victoria had agree to the _soirée_ , although she suspected Leliana was looking forward to the thrill of the Game, rather than having an answers to provide herself. 

So how could Elicia have said no? Both she and Cullen had barely gotten their heads around this, had only just sworn the poor healer to secrecy, when the prospect of the talks had come up. She had to say yes. Her husband’s stoic face betrayed nothing, but he was less than enthusiastic once out of earshot: _this is ridiculous. You do not have to agree to this._  
  
Cullen himself was away, of course, avoiding all of this nonsense. The little voice in her head was surprisingly vicious as it told her that he had left, no, _abandoned her._ Of course, this was far from the truth: an assault upon an encampment of supposed Freemen in the Dales that had been giving their soldiers a difficult time with securing the area was hardly _abandonment_. A standard march alongside the Imperial Army had been the suggestion, and he did not have much of a choice but to agree to lead. She supposed he could be somewhat pardoned for that. _Perhaps_. It had not been a easy choice for him either - he had struggled to leave her, she could read it in the flashes of emotion on his face as he had stood around the War Table, and again at the gates as the soldiers marched.   
  
He could not change things, after all; the Inquisition’s demands never ceased. It was now increasingly difficult for her not to admit that things were _rapidly_ changing, however, and that suddenly the Inquisition seemed to take second place to something impossibly bigger. The feeling of being shifted by powers beyond her ken, the push and pull of the very universe, made her feel, at times, so very small. It was Haven once more, the bestowing of the title of _Inquisitor_ upon her, the fear, the confusion, expectation laid at her own two feet. She had felt so very lost amongst it all, so unsure and hesitant. Who was she to make these decisions, to be given this responsibility? _  
  
_ As if by divine timing, the tiny secret within her womb gave a subtle tumble and a soft jab, the sudden shift of movement she had started to become aware of and used to over the last month, the silent promise that she was never truly _alone._ It was the chip that shattered her perfect facade. Her hand slipped to cover the burgeoning bump and the flutter of life it held, a life made in _love_ , and she felt her composure melt away. Coming to terms with her pregnancy was proving more difficult that she had imagined, as wanted as it was. _Maker_ , she couldn’t do this. Not today.

Of course, her wholly rational mind, doused in hormonal influence, had told her the answer was to simply cry. To stand in front of her mirror, half-dressed in her undergarments and a slip, and sob. The borrowed undershirt she had been wearing for nightclothes lay at her feet (swollen, _ugly_ feet), and it was not until a voice floated into her quarters that she lifted her head. 

“Your Worship! Lady Cassandra sent me to check on you as you haven’t appeared for breakfast and…Herald, are you alright?!”

The lithe figure of one of the scouts peeked over the bannister at her, and Elicia turned, eyes red, sniffling, before waving a hand. “T-Thank you, Elizabeth. S-Send Lady Cassandra up.”

It was perhaps too late for this charade to continue now. Her mind swung between two very differing schools of thought with blistering pace, her fear giving way to anger. The truth burnt within her, and she could not bring herself to lie; her mind asked why she _needed_ to. She had not asked for the Anchor, had not asked for the Inquisition. Nobody had consulted her about her future plans when the sky had ripped open, and she had tumbled from the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes into a world she could scarcely have imagined. Nowhere had she been asked to sign away her rights to a family, to a husband, to a future. Was she to lose that right, just as she had lost so much to this cause?

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra's voice rose from behind her, pulling Elicia from her thoughts. “Is everything alright? I wondered if…Oh.” She had stopped at the top of the stairs, her gaze immediately landing on the scene, before dropping to the swell of new pregnancy that her hand cradled, eyes growing wide. “ _Oh._ ”

Elicia offered her a shy, almost sad smile, wiping at her eyes, speaking with a quiet voice. “Surprise, I suppose.”

Cassandra didn’t move, simply staring at her. “ _Maker_ …Inqisi-… _Elicia._ I had not a clue…”

_“_ Let it be known that this was most definitely _not_ how we had planned to break the news to you.” The silence hung in the room, before Cassandra moved to be at her side, Elicia wiping at her eyes with a sniff.

“How far along…”   
  
“Just over five months, thereabouts.”

“ _From these emerald waters doth life begin anew_ …My deepest congratulations…” She suspected that the sudden rush of tears and the body-shaking sobs were not what the Seeker had been expecting in response to her kind words, and Cassandra's panic was near instant. She placed a hand to her shoulder, lifting her face so their eyes could meet. “This _is_ congratulations, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes.” It was a fierce nod that followed, her fingers curling around her abdomen once again. _Of course is is._ She wanted all of this; peace, a home, a husband who loved her, to bear their child. “Maker, _yes_ , I just…I didn’t expect so quickly to show and…It is all very new…I am being _ridiculous_ but what in Andraste’s name are we going to tell those outside Skyhold? They are still dependent on us maintaining the balance of power, because they cannot help but squabble amongst themselves like children! Imagine the faces of the all of the noble families: the Inquisitor, _the Herald of Andraste_ , having a child with her commander…” Her breath caught in the back of her throat, and she did her best to bite back tears, giving a frustrated huff. “A commander who is _not_ here, instead is on some faraway battlefield, and instead I am alone to face all of them because that is what life asks of us, with no choice…all of these faces downstairs, staring at me, commenting on… _everything_!”  
  
“I think, perhaps, that you are married is a good place to end all rumour.” Cassandra’s arms folded, and the defensive tone in her voice was so welcome. “It is hardly a scandal, having a child with one’s husband, regardless of title. It _is_ none of their business.” 

“It would appear it is _everyone’s_ business.” They were bitter, angry words, and she looked to Cassandra, near desperate. “Is my life forever to belong to someone, _anyone,_ other than me? Even my own family, fervently trying to marry me off to a _nobleman_ to continue their precious lineage. As if there are not more important things in this world!” The fury in her voice began to slip, giving way to emotion once more, a tremble making its way into her words. “I am already married to a _noble_ man! A _good_ man, who is powerless, try as he might, to change any of this. Who loves me…and our child…”

Cassandra’s face softened. “Did you expect anything else?”

“No. He is having trouble keeping it to himself.” The memory of his face at the news, the disbelief, the tears, the glow of pride as she had first begun to show, was enough to raise a small laugh. “I think that may be partly why he eventually agreed to go on this march, to stop his tongue from slipping at the tavern after a tankard or two of ale. He is delighted, he has been since the moment the healers confirmed it.”  
  
“I cannot say I am surprised. The man does not strike me as the sort who would struggle with the impending responsibility of fatherhood.” The smile Cassandra wore was telling, and Elicia agreed with a nod. “And until his return, I will be happy to stand in for the Commander in his absence, and act on what I believe his wishes would be. Which is to eject anyone who is anything other than _delighted_ for you.”

Elicia could not help but laugh, finally finding herself able to do something other than cry. “I thought you disagreed with Cullen’s bullish methods?”

“I do not disagree with _all_ he believes." There was a comfortable silence, until Cassandra cleared her throat. "The Divine arrived about half an hour ago. She is enjoying some time in her old office; I think it is peaceful for her. The nobles have mostly assembled, although it is difficult to tell with those ridiculous masks..." The huff of annoyance was so familiar it was comforting.

Elicia seemed to shuffle in place, shrugging softly. "I suppose I shall have to try and make something fit that will not markedly offend their good tastes.”

‘Val Royeaux has a wide selection of tailors that I am sure we can arrange for Josephine to contact on our behalf. We cannot have you wearing Cullen’s undershirts until this child arrives.” Cassandra's eyes glanced at the discarded cloth on the floor, a chuckle slipping from her.I feel she may be able to pull something together for you today, seeing as she has travelled so far. The woman works miracles, after all.”

"Cassandra, you-"

“This should be a celebration, not something to hide; you are right. The Inquisitor, saviour of Thedas, Herald of Andraste, and you are with child. It is a great day. Let them know it.”


	2. Chapter 2

It transpired, thankfully, that all was not lost and Cassandra had been right when she suggested those around Elicia would rally to support her.

Josephine, to put it lightly, took on the request with gusto. She had near spilled tears over the revelation, congratulating Elicia so many times she had lost count. After a chance to calm herself, and with a stern glare from Cassandra, she had set to work, once more the charming diplomat with every arrangement in hand, as she giddily set herself to work (" And we _must_ find you the finest nursery after today is over! I simply will not allow anything else!")

Sera had cackled delightedly at the news and had promised that Cullen would be in the firing line of some choice remarks when he next set foot inside the tavern. Between arguing whether _Cully Wully_ had indeed been ‘a very naughty boy’, jumping to asking far too personal questions and threatening to put an arrow in the eye of the first person to speak ill of the baby, Sera had been her usual self. In all honesty, Elicia found it comforting; normalcy had seemed to her to be in short supply recently.

In barely three hours, Josephine had clothed her, and Sera's deft fingers had worked magic at the locks of her hair.The smooth silk of the dress felt good in the summer air, far more comfortable than her armour at least. Maker, she had not noticed until now just how restrictive her armour had been, how tightly it had held her. She felt less top-heavy, somehow more put together and at one with herself - at least, stood in the privacy of her own quarters, she did.

Sera (with the assistance of one of the girls from the kitchen) had worked, what Elicia considered anyway, to be a miracle on a burgundy dress that Josephine had procured. It was a beautiful dress, casual enough that it was not a ball gown, with high collar and long sleeves, one tailored neatly around her missing arm. The material seemed to spill over her abdomen and the now prominent swell of pregnancy, and she thought either she must have grown considerably in the last hour or she had been in denial about just how big this child was growing. With her hair twisted in intricate knots and carefully bundled upon her head, she scarcely recognised herself in the mirror. There was a glow about her cheeks she had not seen, and her breasts filled the top panel of the dress snugly; well, she supposed that may have not helped with the armour situation.

“Well? What d’ya think?” Sera stood behind her, hands on her hips, as Cassandra observed from further afield. Elicia stared in the mirror, uncertain for a moment just who was staring back.

“I look…well…” She faltered, waving a hand at the mirror, a thousand replies crossing her mind, but unable to quite cross onto her tongue. “Pregnant.” It sounded ridiculous as soon as it had left her mouth.

Sera let out a snort. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s because you are. S’what happens when you get down and dirty. Or up and dirty, ‘spose. Or just dirty in general.” Cassandra made a disgusted noise, her face screwing up as Sera cackled, grinning in her direction. “What? Don’t tell me Varric’s books ain’t got enough dirty words to make even Bull blush. Surely that’s much worse than the Inquisitor and her _Commander_ makin’ cute little Templar babies.”  

“Sera.” The warning look from said Inquisitor was enough to silence her, but the girl’s humour had broken the spell that had held her, melancholy seeming to slip away. “Thank you for this. I appreciate the help more than you know.”

“Don’t mention it. It kinda suits you, the havin’ a baby thing. Makes you seem less ‘Holy Herald and Inquisitor’, and more ‘normal person who likes her husband naked a bit too much’.” The elf cackled at Cassandra’s repeated groan as she slipped past them and disappeared down the stairs. The Seeker’s face slowly un-morphed from a mixture of horror and disgust as Elicia turned back to the mirror. 

“That girl has a vocabulary that would make a Chantry sister’s heart cease to beat.”

“She means well.” Elicia’s hand slipped to cup the base of her bump, moulding the red silk to her shape, and she could not help but to smile at the image. This was her now; her new future.“I guess this is the first time I’ve looked _this_ pregnant. The armour has hidden it well, and baggy clothing does not do it justice…I suppose this is real after all.”

“It _is_ most becoming of you.” Cassandra’s quiet affirmation brought her more comfort than she expected, and she gave the other woman a smile before laughing.

“Don’t tell Cullen that you agree with him, he thinks I’m positively _radiant_. He will be insufferably smug.”

“What is said between us is of no interest to the Commander.” Elicia turned to her, glancing towards the stairs, her previous humour slipping from her. “The court is awaiting your presence.”

The rising nausea seemed to return at the very mention of her waiting audience, and she felt her pulse quicken. “Cassandra, I am not sure I can-“

“You can.” Steely eyes seemed to will her into listening, a hand finding her shoulder. “You are the _Inquisitor_. You built the very peace that these masked fools rely on for their petty squabbles. It was you who brought order back to Orlais, you who provided them with the safety to continue their frivolous lives. They should be kneeling before you in thanks. You are not bound by their opinions.”

The conviction in Cassandra’s voice left Elicia feeling she had no choice but to believe her, licking at her lips. She took a breath, the quietest of prayers falling from her, before nodding. “Then into the abyss we go.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Main Hall was intimidating to say the least, decked out in the finest drapery, with tables laden with wine and food, and the high ceilings carried the noise of conversation, masking her entrance as the chatter floated throughout the hall. The room was flooded with bodies adorned with mask after gaudy mask and the glitter of finery and precious stones. The bold, crushing magnificence of the Orlesian court seemed to be trebled under the circumstances, stifling the very air she breathed. There were some she recognised; the starched white hat of a cloaked figure she knew was Leliana at one side. The rest, however, were strangers to her, speaking in a strange, foreign accent.

Maker, there were so many of them; _had there always been that many?_ Cullen’s words returned to haunt her, pleading with her to call the talks off or at least have them elsewhere. Perhaps she had given him too little credit. It was astounding to her how her _home_ could suddenly become so unwelcoming, and so very threatening. Had Cassandra not stood behind her, Elicia would have bolted for her quarters, and cowered there until the talks were over. She could not do this, she could _not_ -

“Inquisitor!”

A hush descended upon the room as the lone voice spoke out, her cover finally blown. The court seemed to still before her, eyes turning to stare. Fear rooted her to the spot; she felt so naked beneath their stares, as if the invisible eyes behind the cold masks could weave into her thoughts, her mind, and snatch at every tiny detail. She could hear the whispers and the odd sharp intake of breath or gasp, even behind the masks. It appeared surprise was an emotion uncontrollable. _Breathe_ , her mind seemed to chant, over and over. She could not appear event the slightest bit weak, not in front of the hungry wolves of this crowd; they’d have her devoured in seconds.

The voice at the back of her mind whispered furiously to her: these are _your_ grounds, not Halamshiral. _You_ are Empress here, within these stone walls and ancient brickwork. But the urge to run was overwhelming and it would not leave her, the fear of being prey before predator seizing every thought. Maker, bring her a Rift and she would have gladly stepped through into it at this moment.

 The gentle nudge from within caught her off guard, and it stilled Elicia, taking her by surprise. It took a moment, but the baby moved again, fluttering and shifting, movement she thought could only be the smallest of tumbles, tiny feet finding soft muscle. She wondered if her little secret was aware of it’s timing, and knew of the stares awaiting outside of the cocoon of safety currently shielding it from all of this. How she wished she could hide it there forever, safe and away from prying eyes, from all the she knew would come with his or her arrival. She had never felt so vulnerable, yet at the same time, so strong, each tiny kick seeming to bring a surge of strength within her. Of all of her victories, all of her accomplishments, that she held life within her womb was something she could yet comprehend. And these people could not touch that, their deception and violence could not ensnare this happiness; this was hers, and Cullen’s, and it was but the sweetest of possibilities and futures.

There was another shift, this time a more decisive jab, and Elicia could not help but smile. Cassandra was right - this baby was no secret shame, no guilty abashment she should hang her head for. No, her child deserved better than that. There was a giddy sort of pride in even thinking those words; _her child._ A whole new soul, born of her and the man she loved. She supposed she should have had this revelation many weeks ago, but stood in front of the court, with just her to defend this tiny being, it seemed impossible to fail to acknowledge it. She was, and had been many things: Herald, Inquisitor, but somehow, mother was becoming her most empowering title yet. 

With a breath, Elicia found herself silently speaking to her tiny companion: _alright, my little one, we have this._

 She covered the last few steps to the throne, raising a hand as she glanced out over the crowd, a voice she hardly recognised as her own surprising her when it commanded the room. 

“I welcome you all and thank you for making the journey here. I hope that these talks will bring us the answers I am sure we are all eager to find. Please, enjoy all Skyhold has to offer, and I look forward to our festivities this evening.”

 

* * *

 

Talking, talking and _more_ talking. Elicia could scarcely believe there was anything left to talk about, yet the court seemed to find it, conversation upon conversation finding her regardless of where in the room she chose to hide.

 She could feel the stares upon her as she moved amongst the crowd, could feel the sharp eyes behind such beautiful facades. Anxiety crept within her, as though vultures circled above. One wrong move, and she was theirs. How did this become so much more terrifying than a sharpened blade and blood magic? 

Elicia did her best to remember each mask, trying to piece together names with the glittering gowns as she did. Thankfully, Josephine hardly left her side, politely noting down each conversation, no doubt so she had at least a half chance of remembering what exactly she had said. For the most part, it was straight forward; polite smile, simple chit chat, a nibble at a small pastry before trying to piece together words that would not start another civil war in answer to the simplest of questions. 

 “Empress Celene sends you the warmest of wishes, Inquisitor.” Elicia recognised the woman as one of Celene’s ladies in waiting, the trio that had greeted her the very first time she had visited the Winter Palace. “She has asked that we extend an invitation to you and your council to attend her ball at the Winter Palace in the coming weeks. It has been four years since your first court attendance. The Empress wishes to mark the occasion of that momentous night. She believes it has been too long since you last met…” The masked female faltered slightly, before clearing her throat. “That is…if you are fit…”

 “We will be there. We would not miss the Empress’ fine gathering for all the gold in Orlais.”

 Her short reply caught the young woman off guard, and she hastened to neatly courtesy. “Oh. She will be most delighted hear that.”

They made pleasant small talk for a few moments more, before the woman excused herself and Josephine raised an eyebrow, the momentary peace allowing her to speak in hushed tones.

“You are going to go to Halamshiral?”

 “ _We_ are going to Halamshiral, Josephine, by appearances. I fear I may require your presence and wisdom once again.”

 The Antivan chuckled, voice remaining low but a grin upon her face. “It would be my honour, Inquisitor. Merchant trade is not quite as…exhilarating. The Game is always such a thrill.”

 “If it means further support for the Inquisition while certain members of the court are trying to have us disband entirely, it can be all the thrill it wants. It will not be a popular decision, but we must act where we can… Surely it cannot be as terrible as our last visit?”

 The colour drained from Josephine’s face at the jest, her rebuttal only held back by politeness, as new faces appeared between them to question the Inquisitor.

Elicia had, in fact, managed to avoid almost _all_ questions related to her latest development for the majority of the afternoon, with a tactful hand from Josephine when questioning became a little too close for comfort. That was until she had been cornered by a pair of nobles, a couple by all accounts, near the back of the hall as she had attempted to slip away to her quarters for a five minute grace period to even simply breathe.

“My dear Inquisitor, what wonderful news we find here at Skyhold!” The woman’s high voice grated on Elicia, and she did her best to smile and nod. 

“The Herald of Andraste, with child. It appears that news travels slowly to Orlais these days.” Her male companion was much less charming, and much more prying. “So, will you be holding a grand ball once the child is born? ’Tis tradition within court.” 

The question caught Elicia off guard. “I, um…I hadn’t really given it much thought, I-“

“The Inquisition will be glad to hold festivities to celebrate the birth of the Herald’s child. I shall arrange for details to be sent to you when it has been arranged.”She could have kissed Josephine for her cool wit and easy tongue. 

“And will the child’s father be present?”

Elicia froze at the blunt question, the steely glint from the man in the mask in front of her suddenly a threat. It was a simple enough question, but this was _the Game_. There was no such thing as a simple question here, and she felt every intention, every inflection of meaning, behind the words. This was not a polite question of courtesy - this was an accusation. The streak of indignity was difficult to temper, the sudden outrage on Cullen’s absent behalf, and she felt an equally unimpressed foot press against her naval, the sharp turn of movement within her. _I know, little one,_ she found herself silently uttering. _Isn’t it insane? They want me to say I don’t know who your father is, to give them a scandal to gossip over at their inane tea parties and to discredit you and I. Shall we prove them wrong?_ She practically seethed as she replied, doing her utmost best to keep a pleasant face, feeling Josephine stiffen next to her as she spoke.

“Yes, my _husband_ will be in attendance.”

The man in front of her seemed to recoil slightly, and his partner gave a dithering tittle, moving to fan herself in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Your husband? Why, I had no idea you were married, Inquisitor.”

Elicia managed a response through gritted teeth, and it took every ounce of her to find a polite tone. “Then it would appear news has been slow to travel to Orlais for some time now.” She thanked all that was holy that in that moment, Leliana chose to gesture to her and with swift pleasantries, she departed the conversation, near stalking across the hall and slipping into the side room that had previously held Josephine’s office. The Antivan herself flinched as she closed the door behind them, Elicia letting out a frustrated huff.

 “The Game is so much easier when it is less personal…” She gave in to her anger, sighing as fingers met her temples. “Perhaps it is for the best that I was alone for this engagement, that Cullen is safely miles from Skyhold and unable to hear this _drivel_. I fear there would have been a bloodbath otherwise.”

“It is good to know the Commander’s patience and tact has not changed.” The wash of white robes against auburn hair was still so strange to Elicia, and it made her jump; she had almost forgotten why she had left the hall a all.

“Most H-… _Leliana_.” She corrected herself at the Divine’s glare, giving her a short curtsy. “It is a pleasure to see you back at Skyhold.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” She dismissed the guard at either side of her, waiting until they had left the room to sigh. “I have missed the lack of formality and the familiarity of this place. Being Divine is an honour, but a tiring one.”

“You have been missed.” The fond smile on Elicia’s face was reflected by the older woman, and Leliana clasped her hands together.

“And I see I have missed _much_ in my time away. You are well?” 

 “I am, other than what is commonplace. Nothing the healers cannot help with…”

 I pray it remains that way. I am delighted for you, and for our Commander of course. What joyful news.”

Elicia chuckled good-naturedly, hand finding the crest of her bump. “I hope you will join us again under better circumstances, when this little one is here.”

“But of course. I shall always favour a visit here, especially to see the newest member of the Inquisition… and of course, to perform the blessing…”

“Thank you.” There was deep sincerity in her voice. “It would be an honour. I know that I speak for Cullen when I say that too.”

“I know.” Leliana glanced down the corridor, eyes falling to the grand oak doors with the intricate markings before her, reaching to the heights of the hallway, a slightly more wicked grin finding her face. “What a pity he is not here. Josie, imagine the fun we could have now, around our dear table. No longer simply teasing him for looking lovestruck or forlorn - a _father._ ”

 “I wonder, would his face have taken on the same colour as the Inquisitor’s dress by now, or would he have walked out before allowing that?”Josephine’s laugh was infectious, and Elicia could not help but giggle with them, rolling her eyes.

“Perhaps it is better Cullen is not here to hear this.”

“You mean not here to see the reactions of his favourite nobility when he has played such a huge hand in the Game? Please. You give him too little credit. The man will be devastated.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love on this little ditty, I appreciate it all! There's definitely a next chapter on the horizon!


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost sundown by the time Elicia managed to extract herself from the Main Hall once more and disappear into her quarters. Her peace with Leliana and Josephine had been cut short by the demand for their presence once again amongst the court, and she was hurled back into a blur of strange accents and sickly-sweet pleasantries with daggers hidden between the lines. 

She released her hair from Sera’s now painfully strong plaits, sighing appreciatively as she brushed her hand through. Stopping before the mirror, shoes abandoned as she flexed aching tendons, Elicia glanced at herself; she was beginning to look tired, Maker’s breath, and she tutted disapprovingly at herself. 

“An evening of talking and whispering still to go. I have lost my touch, it seems.”

“And here I was going to suggest a hot bath and a quiet evening for you.”

The deep, smooth Ferelden accent was not what she had been expecting in reply, and she spun around, heart leaping. There he stood, in a clean over-shirt and leathers, armour long since abandoned and hair still obviously damp as it curled in front of his eyes in the evening air, dark stubble littering his chin.

“ _Cullen_.” The surprise in her voice was matched only by the joy. “When did you return?!”

Cullen laid the towel across the bannister, shrugging as he climbed the last of the stairs. “About an hour or so ago. You were engaged in talks, I…did not want to disturb you. Besides, I think I may have traumatised the nobles if I had walked in wearing dirty armour…”

Elicia cleared the room in few steps, resisting the urge to throw herself at him if only because she truly did not know the shape of herself, but nevertheless curled into his arms, the familiar smell of oakmoss rub and steam tickling at her nose. His hands were warm, broad and calloused, but the feel of them against her frame was like finding home. The tiny being within her shifted, tumbling against her, as if knowing just who stood before them, the very noise of his deep voice seemingly bringing tiny feet to life.

“By the Maker, you are _beautiful_ …” Those hands roamed across her figure, following the curve of her bump and tracing the dip of her waist before settling on her hips, pulling her against him as he kissed her, lips impossibly soft and his forehead rested against hers as their lips parted. “Truly a sight for sore eyes.” She snorted indignantly, raising an eyebrow at the compliment, hand casting over herself. 

“What, with this belly, and feet that cannot even fit in shoes and hair that will not be tamed and skin that looks like I am a teenager with pox and - _are you laughing at me_?”

The chuckle that had enraged her continued as Cullen kissed her once more, voice low and bringing a shiver to her spine as his lips found her ear. “ _Beautiful_. Without exception.”

Elicia closed her eyes, enjoying the blissful peace of the moment, losing herself in the feeling of once again being in his arms, before willing herself back to the present. “Mh, do not think you will coerce me into having siblings for this little one with your smooth tongue just yet.” She sighed, resting her cheek against him. “I am glad to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Soldiering does not bring nearly as much reward when you are not content to be away from home. I was worried, I…” He paused, shifting where he stood, uncertain, as she leant back enough to see his face, deep frown beginning on it. “Cassandra mentioned that you…this morning…” 

“I had a…weak moment this morning.” She offered a shy kind of smile, shrugging awkwardly. Stood before him, her earlier meltdown seemed so childish and out of place. “My armour would not fit, nothing would fit for that matter. It seems stupid, but it was all just…a bit too much, what with the court of Orlais awaiting me beyond my door. I do not know what came over me.”

“Are you alright?” The concern laced in his voice and in the creases around his eyes, fingertips firming on her skin subconciously, and she felt the familiar curl of love in her chest. Trust him to ignore all ridiculousness of the situation entirely.

“Better for having you here.”

The gruff scoff in his chest seemed to hum against her ear, as Cullen placed a kiss to the top of her head, tucking her against him once more. “You do not need me to take on a hall full of nobility. I believe I am more of a hindrance than a help with regards to _that_. You are the Herald of Andraste, after all, the Inquisitor herself. What is a room full of masks in comparison to an arch-demon and an ancient magister?” 

“I did not feel like her this morning. I did not feel like anyone this morning, let alone myself.” It was a quiet but stark admission, even to herself. “I have spent the afternoon trying to ignore the stares, but I fear I shall have to answer the whispers tonight. I cannot say I am looking forward to it.”

Cullen was silent, warm breath against her scalp, and without even a word, she could hear his thoughts. _Guilt._ This was his doing. His actions, burdening her. It was selfish to a tee. He all but confirmed it as he cupped a hand to her face, turning her to face him, golden eyes troubled. “What can I do?”

“Nothing, Cullen, you-”

“You do not have to do this tonight if you do not want to.” There was a sharp, protective edge to his voice. “They already know, they have had their fill. Cassandra and I can entertain them, we can give them your apologies and-”

Elicia lifted a finger, pressing it against his lips and halting the rant quickly beginning to tumble from his mouth. “It is not a matter of what I want to do, rather what duty says I must. You and I both know that nothing changes that.”

There was bitter resignation in his sigh, and the guilt behind his gaze lingered. “A duty that I wish I could relieve you of, even if only for this evening.”

“Not even you can accomplish that, Cullen.” That broke his troubled frown, earning her a deft chuckle. “For tonight, anyway, I would just like you by my side. And just…save me a dance?”

He faltered, unsure if she was being sincere “Are you…” His face shifted, concern making it’s return, an uneasiness about him. “But… are you sure you want to…about us? For your sake, I mean…You are still of noble blood, and I…People will talk.”

“People already talk.” The fierceness returned to her voice, Cullen’s quiet comment rallying a defensive streak with a scoff. “You should have heard the comments they made this afternoon. _‘Will the father be present?’_ As if this is some shameful late-night tryst, and I would have no idea!”

“In fairness, late-night may be not far wrong.” The self-assured chuckle from him was not what she had been expecting, and Elicia looked up at him, baffled.

“How can it not bother you?! For them to speak about you as if you are nothing?”

The look that crossed his face answered it for her; _it does, on some deep, hidden level._ But it was gone, replaced by a shrug and a sigh. “I may be a Ferelden dog to them, but I have never really cared for the opinion of others, particularly not for the nobility of Orlais. It is you I worry for. I would rather not see them treat you that way on my behalf.”

“It is not on your behalf.” Her hand dropped near instinctively to cover her naval. “When this child is born, with a head of golden curls and looking very distinctly Ferelden after his or her father, it will most certainly be on my own behalf, and theirs too, as well as yours. You are my husband, and the father of my child, and I shall not pretend that I do not love you simply to appease them.” 

She felt his chest swell against her, and they stilled together in the silence, his fingers drawing gentle patterns on the expanse of her back as he held her. Her anger seemed to slowly drift from her as she nuzzled into warm muscle, the tickle of stubble on her temple as she did. When she eventually crooked her head to look at him, the grin he wore was boyish, reaching his cheeks and reflecting in his eyes. “I rather like that, you know. Father of your child.”

Her hand followed the line of his jaw, before lifting to run through soft, golden curls, a rueful laugh slipping her lips. “I thought you didn’t like titles, Ser Cullen?”

The grin still spread across his face gave her answer before he had even spoken, a telling chuckle rumbling from him. “For that, I can make an exception.”

Elicia cupped his cheek, palm resting against strong jaw, before scoffing indignantly. “If a dance offends them, if my family troubles them so greatly, they are welcome to leave.”

“If only it were so simple to be rid of them. Come, we must get you ready for your adoring public, _Inquisitor_.”

 

* * *

 

Josephine’s miracles continued to materialise, and Elicia had thanked the Antivan a thousand times over as she stood once more before the mirror. The deep violet of the ball gown suited her well, and it spilled over her, somehow giving her both waist and hips, and still exalting the prominent bump. The complex bodice twisted in a glimmer of silk thread, buttons lining the middle as the corset pulled her in. She made a mental note to thank the Antivan for having just the right taste in clothing; she’d never really considered how inconvenient it would have been had her advisor had favoured Orlais’ gaudy fashion.

“Maker take you… you are astonishing beautiful…”

The voice behind her brought a shiver, and she caught Cullen’s glance in the mirror, golden eyes following her figure before finding her own. He had already dressed for the evening, neatly shaven and blonde curls smoothed neatly back in his usual fashion. The bright red of his uniform was twisted with golden threading, fitted neatly to broad shoulders topped with light fur, and taut flank followed, spilling down to where a pair of dark leathers clung to him, with calf-height leather boots. He looked so far removed from the man she woke to each morning, with wild curls splayed and soft stubble across his jaw, but Maker, this suited him just as well. _He looked good._

“You are not so bad yourself. Tell me, Commander…” Elicia rounded on him with a fiendish smirk. “Are you _married_?”

The pink hue that immediately rose to his cheeks made her grin near triumphant, and she wound an arm up his chest to curl around his neck, his own broad palms finding her hips and her grin rose as he played along with her, despite his flush of colour.

“I am afraid, my lady, I am indeed already wedded.”

“That is a shame. What a lucky woman she is…”

“Yes, well…” Cullen’s lips found her neck as they wound together, pulling at gentle skin as he left a trail to her jaw. “I tend to favour myself as the lucky one…” Elicia hummed in appreciation, tilting her head to allow him to continue, eyes closing in pleasure. His lips found hers once more with a deep kiss, hands curling around the back of his neck to pull him to her, and his tongue slipped to trace her mouth, hands gripping her. _They had time, did they not?_

The clock on the wall chimed loudly in reply to her thoughts, interrupting without a care, and she felt him stiffen, close enough to still feel the brush of stubble against her lips, eyes glancing to the wall before he sighed.

“I suppose we shall have to continue this… _discussion_ later. Your people await you.” His forehead leant against hers, and Elicia sighed, bringing her hands to cup his face, thumbs tracing his cheekbones. “It appears I must share you, and well before I am ready to.”

“Cullen…” She felt the quiet sadness in his voice, his real feelings on the evening that continued to be masked by continued disgruntled snarls. Reality returned with a disappointing quickness, and she unwound herself from him, straightening her dress with a clear of her throat. “Indeed. Duty does call, after all.”

“As it has always done.” 

He gave her the slightest of bows, beckoning her in front of him, and followed behind as she made her way down the stairs, the music of the band and roar of conversation swelling as they approached the door. The noise of the hall made her pause, her earlier confidence draining quickly. Elicia glanced to him, sudden nerves getting the better of her. She knew he could read it in her, Maker knows he knew her better than she knew herself some days, and she found expectant golden eyes watching her. 

“Are you alright?”

“I just…” She took a breath, her hand finding his with a squeeze. “Will you stay by my side?”

The reply came in the deep, soft voice she knew he reserved for alone, at the most intimate moments when they chose to bare their souls before one another, and it made her heart sing. 

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

The warm hall was draped in finery (differing from this morning, she noted), and the band in the corner played light, cheerful music, bodies mingling as the sound of conversation rose into the high rafters, a fine spread of food at the back of the hall with plentiful drink. Loose lips sink ships, she thought, and a voice in her head reminded her to tell Cullen that perhaps he had been right about that after all.

There had been polite applause as she had entered the room, Josephine having taken on the mantle of introducing her Worship, and the bows before her were still unusual at best. How many years had she been playing this role?Yet the graceful Antivan before her beckoned her with a knowing smile, and the tall shadow behind her seemed to stretch around her. The gentle yet near invisible touch of Cullen’s hand at the small of her back and the protective scowl across the room had an unequivocal message; _she’s under my protection, and Maker save the one to challenge it._ Elicia may as well have had a _literal_ mountain lion at her back. Stepping forward to stand in front of her throne, she felt the familiar chill fall over her as the hall fell silent. This time, however, she spoke before it could clench around her throat.

“Good evening. I thank you all for what has been a most constructive day. I hope we can move forward with our shared goal in site - peace for Orlais, and Thedas. The Inquisition exists as a righteous spear for the Chantry, to bring order and rule to each corner of the land. Orlais has been a good friend to us in the past, and we do not forget this.”

She spoke with ease as she settled into it, Josephine’s polite smile to one side of her, Cullen’s stoic scowl the other, and her speech flowed as she had practiced, thank the Maker. She could not falter before this mob; she had them where they needed them, in enough elegance to forget that they were on Inquisition grounds to be persuaded to her ideas.

“The horrors of our past cannot be allowed to overshadow the bright future we must aim for. ’Tis the righteous thing to do to ensure peace for our…” Elicia faltered over the sentence, the full gravity of just what she had intended near drowning her as it pulled from her mouth. “…For our children. We must do better than we have in the past.” 

She had said it many times during the fight against Corypheus, that for the generation to follow they must banish the evils of the world. Yet now, with that generation safely nestled in her womb, a small limb reminding her occasionally of that promise, it wore far heavier on her than it ever had. What world was she bringing this child into? One scarred by darkness and chaos, still tainted by the Blight, with bickering nobles and deceitful smiles, with no Templar order and vilified mages. She wanted better than a sheltered life within stone walls for this new soul, and for any siblings that would follow. To be able to travel, to show their children Ferelden, meet their cousins in South Reach, her family in the Free Marches, for them to see this land they had pulled from the brink. Peace, safety, opportunity. Was she asking too much? Had she done enough?

She caught the tilt of Cullen’s chin in the corner of her eye, the stiffening of his stance and she knew he had felt the words too; the weight of responsibility on impossibly broad shoulders once again. They had discussed it at length, the immeasurable danger that still existed, the threat this child would be born bearing, and he had done as he always did; quietly, cooly promised that all would be alright. But she knew fear when she saw it, knew this was fear unlike any other, and in the dark of night, she knew Cullen lay awake with the same thoughts on his mind, the worry of protecting both her and their child never leaving him.

They could not fail to bring peace now.

“Thank you. Please enjoy the evening at your leisure, and I hope Skyhold bids you a fond farewell when the time comes, and we meet again soon.”

There was rapturous applause as she stepped down, tension breaking with each clap, yet somehow, she could not share quite in the same delight.

 

* * *

 

The night progressed much as Elicia had been expecting; veiled prying questions behind seemingly innocent polite conversation, political agendas masked behind canapés, and daggers cloaked in silver words of compliment. She moved between nobles as she had earlier, catching those that had managed to slip from her, and in amongst it all, cursing the damn Game and everything it meant.

Cullen had, once again, been granted a gaggle of masked admirers, much to both her amusement and his distain. Their questions grew ever more probing, and the vein at his temple seemed to strain with every word. As she poured herself a mug of non-alcoholic mead to drink, she could could see the irritation rising in his face not far from her.

“So I hear you will be joining us at Halamshiral, Commander.”

Cullen’s glance was unmissable, and Elicia had to stop herself from snickering at his expression, the slow recognition of a plan made out of his earshot dawning on him. He was no diplomat, after all, and his refusal to attend would have gone down so poorly. She had intended to tell him later, hadn’t she?

“We will?”

“Have you not been informed? There is a grand ball, to celebrate the Inquisition’s first appearance at the Winter Palace. The Inquisitor had said the Inquisition would be attending.”

“I see.” She did not have to look to know that the smile through clenched teeth would be masking his utter horror at the idea. “Well, if the Lady Inquisitor has planned it, we shall be in attendance.”

“We shall look forward to watching you dance. Your attendance last time was…much enjoyed by many of the Orlesian court.”

Elicia had to contain a snort of humour at his stammer in reply, taking a sip of her drink instead, Josephine grinning as both she and Leliana joined her.

“His patience is much improved, do you not agree? Perhaps we shall make a politician of our Commander after all.”

“I do not know, Josie. Perhaps he would be too distracting in the Court for decisions to ever be made.”

“My patience is beyond breaking point, thank you very much, Ambassador.” Cullen had managed to extract himself from the encircling vultures, and tucked himself neatly out of sight between the women. “And I cannot think of a worse fate for me than in the Court. I would rather spend my life in the Fade. At least there are no giggling mistresses in the Black City.”

Josephine smirked, tapping a finger towards him. “Tut tut. I am afraid Lady Boulier has had her heart broken by the news you are already taken, Commander. She has yet to emerge for the bathrooms and was heard wailing. I believe you have crushed the poor girl’s heart.”

“My sympathy is unending.” The utter contempt in his voice made Leliana chuckle, a wicked grin appearing on her face.

“Now, now, Commander, is that the attitude of a father-to-be? What if it is a girl? Would you be so relaxed if it was _her_ heart which had been broken?”

Cullen’s dark scowl was reply enough, Leliana’s grin just as wide, and Elicia was forced to step in before her husband’s patience was entirely tested. 

“The night is almost over, Commander. You will be free of your office and duties in due course.”

“It is not my office and duties that are the problem. I maintain that a few soldiers and a little bravado work far better than posturing and wine…” He sighed, hand rubbing at the back of his neck in the familiar way she found so comforting. The simple action brought out _her_ Cullen from the pomp and circumstance of the night, from beyond unfamiliar clothes and duty and position, from behind the veil of merely Commander.“Though I thought I may steal your attention for a dance, my lady. I may as well enjoy the finer points of this evening, if I must suffer the rest.”

Elicia laughed gently as she took the outstretched hand, fingers curling into familiar warmth, his irritation disappearing into an almost shy smile, an acknowledgement of her understanding of his discomfort. “Why of course, Commander. I thought you would never ask. Most Holy, Josephine, you will have to excuse me…”

They stepped from the edges of the room to join the already full dance-floor, Cullen giving a neat bow before her, and she could not help but to grin; the last time they had done this, they had barely known one another, still treading softly around the edges of themselves, quietly beginning to fall in love. Now, however, it was different. Their bodies knew the landscapes and curves, and their minds the crevices of one another. Laid bare before her lover, she had allowed his touch to slip into the very depths of her being and nest there, the fierce love of familiarity and companionship her rock. In return, she had seen the bottom of his broken soul, the fear that lived in golden eyes and quietly pieced what she could together. She had soothed panicked breaths as he scrambled for her in the dark of night, his screams her calling, and whispered words of love as he clung to her, filled with the fear of her slipping through his fingers. He had laid his shame and guilt and sorrow before her, and she had judged him, as she had done so many times; _for life, eternal partnership with a sacred vow to love her until the end of his days._

There were hushed whispers around the room,and she did not need to turn to feel the stares burning into the back of her as a hand found her hip, pulling her against his own. Maker, it was terrifying. But Cullen was pressing soft lips to her knuckles, a broad arm tightly holding her, her eyes meeting his; warm, patient, loving. She felt fear slip away as they began to move with the music, moving effortlessly together as if they had done this a thousand times. The rest of the room seemed to take with the music too. Between the colour of the dance floor, the swirl of patterns and fabrics around them, they were lost. Elicia breathed a sigh of relief as best she could, her focus instead on the warmth of his body, and the sway of his hips as they danced, knowing he remained keenly alert, eyes scanning the room behind her.

“You can relax, you know. You are a better dancer than you give yourself credit for.”

His little chuckle in reply made her smile. “Forgive me, but I have the two most important people in my life under my guard, in a room full of spies and lies. I shall not be losing my focus any time soon.” She rested her head against the crook of his shoulder, collarbone meeting her cheek, a warm smile finding her face.

“You can be adorable, do you know that?”

What she could see of his face remained stoic, but the pink tinge on his cheeks and the tiniest curl at the edges of his lips gave him away. “I promise you that I do not intend to be.”

“That is what makes it so precious.”

The uttered _‘Maker’s breath’_ made her laugh, giggling into the fabric as they danced. “I believe I am making your host of admirers a little jealous. You have garnered some attention tonight.”

“Mh, but _yours_ is still the only attention worth having.” The nostalgia mixed with the phrase made her laugh once more, the memories of so long ago floating back.

“Now that was a long time ago, Ser Rutherford. Back when Templars didn’t dance?”

“They still don’t, to my knowledge.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Keeping you safe.” Elicia raised an eyebrow, drawing her head far enough away to gaze at him and Cullen relented with a chuckle. “And as I am no longer a Templar… Merely a man, dancing with my wife.”

They could have been anyone within that crowd, the responsibility of office momentarily lifted from their shoulders. Just a husband and wife, enjoying a dance. There was something sweet in it, something whole, and she could not fail to admit that she enjoyed the release of duty, if even so briefly.The music came to a fluttering end, and before she could untwine herself, Cullen dipped his head to catch her lips in a sweet, gentle kiss, one that caught her completely off guard in the most pleasant of ways. There was a distinctly recalcitrant glint about his eyes as they parted, the flutter of excited whispers about them not dulling it; _he had entirely meant for it to be seen_.

“Commander, we shall be courting controversy with that little move of yours.” Her finger prodded against his chest, a grin curling at the edges of her lips as he shrugged, a content smirk on his own face.

“Perish the thought, my lady. That would be something new, wouldn’t it?”

“You are almost enjoying yourself.”

“Perhaps. Although, I would be loathe to admit it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was previously posted as two chapters, and has been both condensed and edited to reflect future storylines.

By the time Elicia had bid farewell to the majority of the departing guests, and slipped through the door to her quarters, her feet were aching, but she could not deny that the weight had lifted from her shoulders. Cullen’s mood had dramatically improved the closer to midnight it pulled, and she was unsure whether Leliana had succeeded in her subtle quest to replace his drink with the alcoholic wine, or whether he just really did enjoy the one-up on his despised company, and the thought of the event being over. He was certainly chipper as he followed her up the stairs, her hand pulling him behind her with a laugh, jovial mood in the air, and he caught her by the hips as they stepped out into her quarters. She turned in his arms, reaching up to plant a quick kiss on him, hand cupping stubbled jaw.

“Well, you have made it, Commander. Skyhold still stands, no felonies were committed and your sanity is still with us. It was not so bad, was it?”

“No comment. I shall not be rushing to endorse another. But…I suppose we should celebrate.” A swift pull tugged her skirts high enough at one side that he could run a hand up the softness of her thigh, and she shivered at the feel of his palm against her skin.

“Tsk, manners! How very Fereldan of you. We’re barely behind closed doors.” The mocking chastising, with her best Orlesian accent, earned her a deep rumble of a laugh and she wrapped her arm around his neck, “Since you are so determined…Are you going to help me out of this dress, or shall I have to do it myself?”

Cullen’s lips were on hers without any further invitation, and he walked her backwards until her thighs found the table edge, strong arms holding and, with ease, lifting her hips to sit as lithe legs wound around his waist. Elicia grinned in triumph at the low groan that left him as she pressed against his core, his leathers not quite thick enough to prevent her intended friction. His impatience was evident in the fumbling hands that fought with the bodice’s closures, unfamiliar clasps ruining his composure, and he muttered under his breath as he wrangled with them between kissing the nape of her neck. There was something delightful in the way he changed, in the primal instinctive actions, and she giggled at the growl of annoyance against her skin.

“Just to mention, I have grown rather fond of this dress, and Josephine shall be furious if you rip it apart entirely.”

She received a gruff grunt of annoyance in reply, fingers continuing to work at the seemingly endless buttons on her corset,“If she did not want me to tear you out of it, perhaps she should not have _put you in it in the first place._ ”

Elicia raised an eyebrow at the bawdy comment and his cheeks seemed to turn to crimson at the realisation at just what he had said, eyes lifting to meet hers briefly. She straddled his hips with ease, grinning with a lick of her lips. “Is that what you have been thinking all evening, Commander?”

The bashfulness was replaced by a curling smirk, the confidence of a familiar lover, the scar she often traced lifting as he did. “And if I were to say yes?” 

Her laughter was low, ankles locking at the small of his back, pulling her against him once again, and the buck of his hips was damn instinctual, her own flesh hungering for the feel of his against it. Her fingers found the collar of his shirt, and she freed his throat, eyes fluttering closed as his lips found her skin once again, dipping to follow her breastbone. Well, this was at least the best way to end what had been an overwhelming day with very little personal time to-

“Commander!” The cry came from below her quarters, immediately pulling her from her thoughts and Cullen jerked away almost instantly at the interruption, scowling at the staircase with an irritated scoff.

“For the love of Andraste…Is there no such thing as privacy?”

He brought her feet to touch the floor once more, slipping away from her and near storming down the stairs, only making it halfway before a breathless soldier burst through the lower door to her quarters, Elicia peering over the bannister to the scene below.

“You are needed, Commander. There has been in incident in the Gardens.” Cullen groaned, hand running through his hair in irritation, and the soldier bore the brunt of his exasperation.

“I swear, if one of the recruits is drunk and has their head stuck in a rampart again…”

“No, Ser. It is urgent. Please, you are needed.” The soldier’s voice remained firm, his hurry evident in the pant on his breath, and Cullen’s demeanour fell straight into the stoicism of his office, irritation dropping in favour of seriousness as his shoulders straightened, all hint of their previous plans disappearing in a near instant.

“I will be there, right away.”

The soldier darted out, and his eyes met hers with an apology as he adjusted his clothing, quickly fastening the buttons she had worked loose.

“Honestly, can we not have one evening of peace when Orlais is involved? I will not be long, I-“ 

“I am coming.”

He paused, looking to her, and Elicia could see the argument rising in his eyes, the swell of indignation in his chest. “You do not have to.“

“This is not for discussion. I want to.” She straightened the dress, easily fastening the bodice once more, chin lifting as she pulled dark locks from her face. “I am not ill, nor crippled, and Skyhold is my responsibility as much as it is yours.”

Cullen stared at her, and she could practically hear the run through of emotions in his mind, trying to formulate a reply to convince her she was wrong. The fierce need to protect rose within him abd she knew came from a place of goodness, of love; but she would not be sidelined to being the damsel in distress. And he knew that; he knew her better than to think a baby would change that, that she would bend to the will of anyone but her own. A voice in her head considered that perhaps she was being too proud; the other demanded she invoke her title, order him to drop his argument. But neither was necessary, as he relented with a sigh, recognising a battle he was sure to lose.

“Very well. As you wish, Inquisitor.”

His tone was unmistakable; not happy, for lack of better words, and a trickle of guilt found her. He hadn’t meant it in that way. But now was not the time for worrying over it, and she pushed past. Cullen was silent as they made their way back through the now deserted hall, only a trickle of figures present, tidying the relics of the festivities. She knew he had plenty to say on her decision, knew by the tight clench of his jaw that this was far from over, but only his focus on the situation at hand stopped him from voicing it. This was not the time.They were the Inquisitor and her Commander, and anything less would be insubordination in his eyes. Despite the years of being something so much more, the disciplined soldier at his core refused to yield.

Through the darkened hallway they marched, to the gardens, where a crowd had already gathered, the lights of torches spilling across the moonlit gardens. As she approached, Elicia could hear the mutters and gasps, and she pushed through the gathered bodies, Cullen an imposing figure behind her. As light met the wall before her, she found the source of trouble herself, eyes widening as she took in the sight, as fear began to curl in her stomach.

“Cullen…”

Sprawled across the wall in front of them, in towering font, a message.

_ ‘Blessed are the righteous’ _

It was in large letters, spread across the brickwork of the garden walls high above her, a message for all to read. It was only as she repeated the words again, each syllable at a time, that the moonlight shone in the letters, and it was with a sickening lurch that she realised the message was written in blood. The thick, bitter smell of it filled the air and she felt nausea rise; _monstrous_. Below it, the bodies of two soldiers, the source of the _ink,_ healers already at their side as the smell of elfroot lingered in the air.

“Fetch the Lady Seeker and her Holiness at once.” The sharp salute from one of the soldiers assured her Cullen’s order would be followed, as his eyes went from the soldiers to the wall, mouthing the words next to her, brow furrowed in concentration.

“In their blood, the Maker’s will is written.” His whisper caught Elicia off guard and she looked to him in confusion, meeting his gaze. “It is… the next verse of the Chant of Light. It is Benedictions, 4:11…” He swallowed harshly, clearing his throat, pointing to the wall. “‘Blessed are the Righteous, the lights in the shadow… In their blood, the Maker’s will is written.” He seemed to flinch at the intonation, looking to her. “A more literal translation, we could not have asked for…”

Elicia drew a sharp breath, eyes surveying the scene once more. Righteous. Had she not used the word over and over today, as she had spoken before the court? In the Inquisition’s intentions… _a righteous spear for peace._ Maker. It was the most sick of word games, and she could not help but feel the biting sting of sarcasm in the phrase. They were being mocked, teased, tested. Someone was playing her at her own game, twisting her words against her. From the look of the faces of the gathered crowd, with the stragglers of the nobles beginning to filter through, they were already a step ahead.

She heard Cullen groan next to her in near unison with her bitter sigh, both resigned to the inevitable conclusion as their eyes met once more.“It would seem, Inquisitor, that somebody does not want the Inquisition’s involvement in matters in Orlais after all.”

“And here I thought today went so well.”

 

* * *

 

Any chance of rest had long since passed Elicia by, and the growing dull ache at her temples made her cringe. Cullen had disappeared with soldiers at his heels, scouting both Skyhold and the surrounding area as best they could in the darkness of the night, in case any threat remained. She had spent what felt like hours around the War Table, Cassandra at one side, Josephine at the other, with Leliana absent only as she directed the Chantry’s resources to secure the nobles’ passage back to Orlais safely. Had it not been so desperate, it would have been nostalgic.

The exhaustion was overwhelming, and it was Cassandra who insisted she try to rest, and received a tired glare for it. “I will not be the one to explain poor treatment of you to the Commander.”

“Hang _the Commander_ , we have work to do.”

“And it shall be done. But you must have some rest. You will be needed tomorrow.”

“Then I shall rest tomorrow.” Their gaze met, and she saw familiarity, recognition of a shared character trait, in the Seeker’s eyes. _Stubbornness, or was it dedication to duty?_ Perhaps both. “It certainly will not be before the Commander returns to Skyhold.”

Their vigil, peppered with political discussion, lasted for another an hour, before the sleep in Josephine’s eyes was unmissable, and Cassandra’s head began to nod. Elicia dismissed them both to their quarters with surprisingly little fight, promising to hold a full council in the morning to appease the voices of argument. She herself, however, refused to move, settling into the bench on the near wall and scanning the reports over and over. It was well into the wee hours before she heard the familiar grate of steel armour against stone, and Cullen visibly jolted from her presence as he came into the room. He looked tired, familiar dark rings around his eyes, usually neat hair coming loose across his brow and around his ears, and he had rid himself of the restrictive dress uniform long before setting out, she suspected, in favour of his armour and weapon. In the quiet of the night, they were alone before the map, spread wide with figures scattered across it in the dim candlelight, paper with hasty notes written on scattered across it.

“Maker, why are you still awake? You should have gone to bed hours ago.”

“I was awaiting your return. I could not have slept.” She rose from her perch, stretching aching muscle. “What developments do you have?” 

“All of our men have returned to Skyhold safely. We will resume patrols at first light. The noble caravans are well protected and their inhabitants calm for the most part.”

He hesitated, and it caught her attention, sharp eyes looking to him. “What is it?”

“We… do not need to discuss this. You would be better resting, rather than involving yourself in all of this.” It looked almost like pity on his face, or was she imaging that? Indignation began to curl in her; _she was not a child_. His entire attitude had descended quickly from Cullen to Commander, yet not advisor. Merely a man attempting to take control of a situation far beyond him, with stoic face and tight fists. If it had not been under the circumstances, she could have been more understanding, and he was not the first to test her patience that evening with smothering concern. But both tiredness and pregnancy brought irritability, impatience, and above it all, the loathing of being reduced to merely the helpless female once more.

“I do not need to be mollycoddled.” Stubborn pride forced her hand, and Elicia folded her arms, huffing as she did, glowering across the table at him. 

“I am not mollycoddling you, but you do not need to do this, not in your condition. I do not want you to-”

“Maker, must you be so asinine! Just because I am carrying your child does not make me yours to command.”

Surprise read on his face, and Cullen faltered under the cool glare. “That…that was never my intention, I was not-”

“You could have fooled me. Would you prefer I spent the remaining months of pregnancy locked up in my quarters, reading books and knitting?” The cool sarcasm in her voice rolled from her tongue, and the irritated sigh from him told her he more than understood it.

“Now you are being unreasonable.“

“I am being unreasonable?” She threw a glare at him as he scoffed, biting her tongue as it threatened to lash further, before pointing at the report, forcing the frustration bubbling within her back. “ I said I wished to be updated, so update me, _Commander._ What are these developments? Before you force me to call a full council just for information you are refusing to give me.”

Cullen’s eyes stayed on her, and she saw the slow intake of a breath, his measured patience, and when he spoke again, it was with a flat, even tone that she knew too well as one learned from years of training; the tone of a subordinate, rather than a husband. She didn’t like it, not at all if she was honest, but the tired shortness of her patience bore no prisoners. “We have found no evidence of a struggle, or of a forced entry to Skyhold. We have found a young serving man, covered in blood, in the basement. He said he had discovered the soldiers and ran in panic. We are questioning all who witnessed the incident, but so far, very little has been gained.”

“So it just happened to be the evening when the entire Orlesian court was in session that this happened?”

“Of course not. But it is becoming difficult to incriminate Orlais in this, not matter how much we believe it is them. Whoever planned it has gone to great lengths to cover their tracks.”

“And this young man?”

“A mage, who has worked here for some time, and was seen earlier with a Marquise. He has since disappeared, after injuring the guard stationed to watch him. He was seen fleeing Skyhold. Our patrol has been following his trail.”

“With a Marquise?!” Elicia’s hand found her forehead, groaning. “Can we not investigate the court then?”

“That would be…impossible, as well predictably undiplomatic, especially to send a party to Orlais just for that. Most of them had left by the time this occurred, although I have no doubt that the rumours will have been long since started. Our spies will do their best…but more importantly, somebody here has played their part in this plan. We found an open door to the cellars, one that the kitchen girl swears was locked. Somebody who knew Skyhold, and knew how to pull this off under our noses, was involved. Someone with something to gain by sending this message.” His words seemed to hang in the air, and she caught their meaning near instantly, rounding on him.

“So you are planning to vet all of Skyhold, rather than Orlais?”

“After what happened at the Exalted Council, it would be prudent to put our own house in order first before we accuse anyone else. Keeping groups apart, watching for suspicious behaviours, monitoring outgoing communications…” Her skeptical glare caught his attention and he folded his arms, returning it with one of his own. “There are many, both here and wider afield, who may have cause to be upset with present circumstances. We still have much work to do on restoring the peace, and Orlais did not take kindly to being put so firmly in their place.” She raised an eyebrow, and he sighed, gesturing at her. “There are also many who do not agree with the Inquisition…nor with our union. They are even more unlikely to be pleased with the news you are carrying the child of a Templar.”

He wasn’t wrong, that much she could admit. There were many on both sides of the mage and templar divide, from varying nations, who had tired of war, tired of fear, prejudice and division, and were keen to see peace restored and maintained. But there were an equal number still keen to see bloodshed, still unwilling to let the past rest. Mages fearful of templars who would once again break free of the shackles of control and kill, and templars so impossibly petrified by the idea of magic ungoverned that they could not bring themselves to set their beliefs aside. There were few children born of such a union, less so in such public eyes, and although Cullen did his best to distance himself from his previous title, it was near impossible to appease them all. With the news now so public, she suspected things would only grow worse.

Still, there was something about his manner that forced her guard to rise. The unspoken blame she knew hid behind his words. Tiredness had shortened an already tested fuse, and she found herself sarcastic and much sharper than she had truly intended to be.

“You mean to vet the mages first? Because I am certain it will not be the Templars to bear the brunt of your action, obviously. Perish the thought it could be a Templar at the source of all of this.” Her patience broke, irritation quickly rising, and she let slip of the leash of control, an accusing finger finding the breastplate of his armour. He faltered at her accusation, staring at her for a moment, swallowing heavily before he continued. 

“Someone has tried to kill two of our guard, and left a very clear and ominous message on the walls of Skyhold, and a mage was found covered in their blood! You think I am over-reacting? I never said that I-”

“We have no idea who did this! I think you are jumping to conclusions.”

“It is not a conclusion! I’m simply suggesting we take precautions! It would not hurt to question the remaining mages, particularly those with connections to him. With consideration, there many more mages here than Templars, and it was a mage who-.” There it was. Confirmation, at least for her exhausted, impatient mind, of her previous suspicion.

“So we must instantly assume it is a mage at the heart of all of this? Have you forgotten that it was the Templars who sided with Corypheus?”

“No! Of course not! For that reason alone, I am concerned. We have far fewer people capable of controlling magic than we have had in the past. The Red Templars took many good men-”

“You are not actually concerned about the Templars’ betrayal, I see. More that you no longer have the number you would need if you wished to see the mages under lock and key once more.” 

“That is not what I intended-“

“Oh, I believe it was.”

Cullen sighed, exasperated, and the very noise seemed to vex her. “I am merely trying to prevent this being the first of any more attacks or incidents to follow. It was a message, clearly designed to unnerve us, to use your words to breed resentment. Maker knows, we do not need blood magic within Skyhold, or for a disgruntled mage to be open to possession and to bring the walls about our ears, or to target you because of it’s influence. It would not hurt, just in case, to be one step ahead and to have precautions.“

“So you will turn this fortress into a Circle to keep your paranoia at bay.” Elicia saw the surprise in his eyes, before he snapped a reply at her, anger and hurt layered in his words as his temper flared, finally reaching breaking point.

“I _married_ a mage. How can you think I would still believe in such things as that? You, of all people, know how I feel.”

She let out a snort of indignation. “A mage. Is that what I am? That is what I mean to you? Am I merely a redeeming partnership, to forgive yourself for the past, to convince yourself that you have changed? Or to convince others?”

“ _Inquisitor_ , do you even hear yourself speak?!” The raise in his voice, the thundering anger, was so foreign that she riled against it out of nature, out of spite.“Of course not, you are my wife.“

“Perhaps I should trade my wedding ring for a phylactery, just in case. Would that make you feel better?”

“Maker, you are being completely ridiculous!” He spat the words at her, heavy lines of outrage and strain across his brow. The raised voices must have jolted the guard outside of the room, and she heard the clink of armour, soldiers no doubt questioning whether to interrupt or not.The Commander rarely grew angry enough to shout. Yet he looked utterly livid across the war table, golden eyes lined by brows that furrowed in fury. _That is enough_ , her heart whispered. _This is not yourself_. Her anger, however, was relentless, and it willed her on in the face of opposition. 

“Oh, it is not I who is being ridiculous. You are completely out of your mind. You find one mage implicated in this, and we are suddenly vetting the majority of this castle-”

“I am not discussing this nonsense any further. Not tonight, anyhow. You may call me what you you desire, but I am thinking of you and our child. Andraste’s sake, Elicia, I am trying to keep you safe!”

“Oh, how very nostalgic. The same way Meredith kept the mages of Kirkwall safe? And what if this child is born a mage, hm? Shall they call you father or Knight-Commander?”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, wickedly hurled at him, and the look on his face, the flinch of pain, the panicked anguish in golden eyes, made her heart sink. Her anger began to fade with each second that passed, and he could no longer meet her gaze, bowing his head with a defeated look, shame a cloak on him as he gripped the edges of the war table. Maker, she hadn’t meant that. Not in that way. The silence her words brought was heavy, and she could almost choke on it.

Cullen drew a heavy breath, his eyes never lifting, before turning on his heel wordlessly, and he was gone before she could speak, the sharp crack of the door closing behind him, heavy footsteps audible as he stormed the ancient corridors. Her composure slipped with the privacy it brought, fist finding the solid oak of the war table as sheer exhaustion won it’s battle for her mind.

Maker’s breath. That had spiralled into something far bigger than it needed to be. 

This childish urge to cry seemed to consume her, and Elicia wrestled fiercely with it, but to no avail. The first sniff left her as she made her way back to her quarters, blindly pushing past the guardsmen at the wooden door at as near double pace as she could manage, before collapsing into the safety of crisp sheets with a muffled sob, barely containing it. _Idiot._ Her mother had always told her she had too fast a mouth to be clever. 

The dress was a fight to be free of, and she kicked it aside as she wrestled it from her body, slipping into Cullen’s undershirt as her hair fell free, before curling beneath the heavy covers of her, no their, bed. It took time, but the tears did stop, and she wiped damp cheeks with a quick hand, sniffling to herself. _No,_ she was reminded by quick jab; _she was never truly by herself_.

“That was a terrible thing to say to him. To use you against him like that.” Her tiny companion seemed to favour night time to play, and she could not help to smile as she imagined the hands that twisted within her with each movement, the delicate features grimacing and tiny fingers flexing in practice for the months ahead. Her hand cupped the base of the bump as the baby stretched and wriggled, fingers meeting each movement. “He loves you and I, little one. I doubt there is anything, in this world or the next, that would change that. Please never think any differently…”

Her head loudly protested that she had been right, that there was no excuse for prejudice, especially not now, and that Cullen’s typical headstrong approach was, this time, dangerous. That his usually well tempered attitude was clouded by fear, by piggish, testosterone-fuelled panic in his desire to keep her from anything remotely concerning. Her heart, however, she should have been gentler, should not have gone so far. Should have seen the concern, the desire to do right. Should have known the familiar twitch, the familiar ache in his eyes, and should have acted differently. No matter the number of years it had been, she could still see lyrium’s defiant song in the stiffness of his muscles, the dark rings under his eyes, and the irritable snap of his patience that followed the pains in his head and the shake in his hands. It was rarer now, twisting through him only at moments of exhaustion, of stress, and she could count on her hands how often she had seen it pain him in the days since their marriage.

But then, her inner voice objected, if an unknown assailant had breached your defences and painted the walls with your soldier’s blood (whilst your pregnant wife insisted on tackling it head on herself no less), it would be difficult to remain entirely calm.

Allowing this to affect them was perhaps exactly what had been intended; division and infighting, suspicion and anger. Whether this attack was personal or political, the effect had been the same. This would be fixed in the morning’s light; they would sleep, they would discuss, they would apologise, and reconcile. It was so rare that they truly argued (bickering, on the other hand, was a marital sport at times) and it was alien to her to have the bed to herself, the empty weight of his absence next to her. It was almost unsettling, to know he was within Skyhold yet not with her. Elicia did not like it. However, another half hour of lying awake confirmed to her that she would be spending the night alone, and it was with an unsettled heart that fitful sleep found her.


	5. Chapter 5

The bright sun spilt beyond her curtains,and it brought instant panic as Elicia awoke; _how long had she slept for?!_ The bed was still empty, and with a sobering hurt, she realised it had remained that way all night, room undisturbed from when she had drifted into the Fade. It was so rare that they slept apart with both at home, and it unnerved her, guilt curling as a sickening pit in her stomach. Stubborn as they both were she knew, had he slept, he would have had a restless night without a calming voice by his side, and that it could not possibly go on. She would apologise, they would sort this and things would return to normal, with him snoring by her side and she unapologetically wrapped amongst his portion of the covers.

She slipped from the bedcovers, finding a note on the table beside her, Cassandra’s familiar handwriting upon it. _War council at evening, rest_. Thank the Maker she had not slept in, although the order of rest was unnerving in and of itself. Elicia suspected the Seeker was every bit as serious as usual with the demand, although she could not say she was upset by it.

Her stomach growled, demanding fed, and she relented. Until Josephine’s latest order of clothing arrived, she had resigned herself to wearing what was comfortable and Cullen’s soft undershirts, accompanied by her fur-lined housecoat and long cotton flannels, had become her favourite lounging outfit around Skyhold. There lay the beauty of peace from Orlesian nobility, of a quieter Inquisition - a relaxed kind of comfortable. Right now, the soft scent of him woven in the fabric was more than a comfort; the hint of masculinity mixed with notes of elf root and the tickle of the paste she knew tamed his curls. It had always amused her that a man who spent the majority of his time clad in iron armour, with such a bloody and violent occupation and the habit of looking all too serious, smelt so, well, _gentle_. It was no great shock to her, knowing the Cullen behind the carefully constructed facade, but she suspected it would be a surprise to the masses at Skyhold who knew him as _Commander Uptight_.

Elicia stumbled down the stairs, pulling the gown around her against the chill and scraping her hair back into a more respectable bun. As the door opened, she nearly collided with a young guard on the opposite side of the it, both ducking from the other with alarm. It took a moment for the both of them to come to their senses, the guard instantly jumping to attention as Elicia stumbled backwards, finding the wall.

“Your Worship, are you alright?!”

They seemed to have equally startled each other, and Elicia took a moment to catch her breath before staring the young soldier down.

“Did you need me?”

“Ah, n-no, Lady Inquisitor.” The young man shuffled on his spot, clearly uncomfortable. “I am simply on shift at my post.”

“Your post is my door?”

“The Commander stationed a guard to stand watch outside your door. After all that has gone on, he said that we cannot afford to take chances…”

“Of course he did,” she mumbled. Pride be damned, only Cullen would do that for someone who had just insulted his very being. “Could you fetch the Commander for me?”

“I am afraid not, my Lady.” The guard gave an apologetic look in response to her instantaneous stare. “He has left Skyhold to attend to urgent business matters. He did mention to apologise to you for the lack of notice.”

Elicia fell into silence, near dumbfounded at the reply, an unknown panic rising within her. “He’s _gone_?”

“Just for a while, with one of the forward units, to follow a lead that was received in the early hours regarding the missing mage. He chose to deal with it himself, said it was urgent. The party left Skyhold over three hours ago. He certainly seemed to be in a hurry… He left a message for you though.” The guard proffered a scroll, and Elicia near snatched at it, heart pounding.

She wanted to cry that this was a cruel mind game, in an attempt to get her to apologise or as penance for it all. That by forcing her worry, he would push their argument aside, make her forget why they had even disagreed in the first place. But, she admitted to herself, Cullen didn’t _do_ mind games. Straightforward, awkward, virtuous honesty was his approach to their relationship; she doubted the man had the heart to even consider manipulation, never mind the desire to truly deceive her. He was too good a man for that. Even in spite she could admit it, and it was with a pang of truthful sadness, one that seemed to quieten her. Was that not what she had told Cassandra just hours prior? A good, noble man, who loved her? _Maker, she was a fool._

It made no sense to run her mind ragged overthinking their squabble. He had left Skyhold, near immediately, and that itself was something rare. That meant that whatever this lead was, it was serious. She would ask at the council meeting, someone was bound to know what was going on. Cassandra would find out if not, the Seeker was always good for that…

“Right…thank you.” Elicia paused, shivering against the morning air, before looking almost shyly at the waiting guard. “Could I…could I ask of you a small favour?”

“Anything, your Worship.”

 

* * *

 

She had retired herself back to the safety of the heavy throws and blankets of their bed, the cold morning air twisting around ancient brick and slipping into the room. The headache that had awoken her had grown into a near head-splitting pain, and Elicia was grateful of the quiet. She uncurled the scroll, finger tracing unfamiliar handwriting before her in black ink; he had obviously dictated it. Just how much of a rush had they been in?

_We have had a lead in our investigation that requires my urgent attention. Lady Pentaghast will be able to inform you further this evening. My apologies for the sudden nature of my departure but I trust you will understand. I shall return at first opportunity. Forgive me._

Somehow she suspected that the apology had little to do with the above explanation, however well hidden within the seemingly benign message. Beneath it, however, was the familiar curl of his name in his penmanship, accompanied by a quick scrawl: _’I love you both’_. The simple words, under the circumstances, seemed to say so much more and _Maker’s breath,_ she loved that man. The well in her throat nearly choked her, the familiar prickle at the back of her eyes stinging. 

She was not crying once more, Andraste’s tits.

The sound of a knock, followed by footsteps, stole her focus, and she wiped quickly at the dampness around her lashes. To her abject surprise, it was not the young guard she had spoken to but instead, a boisterous Sera with a brimming mug in her hand traipsing towards her with a grin.

“Little guardy in the kitchens said something about you needing cocoa. Said it a hundred times, right enough, stammering away. Think you make him nervous. Maybe he fancies the pants off you. Anyway, was awake, so made ya some instead, and here I am.”

“Maker, bless you Sera…” Elicia took the cocoa, as Sera made herself at home on the free side of the bed, glancing about as she threw herself against a pillow, her eyes catching on the parchment. 

“So Cully’s marched his men down the mountains, has he?”

“Yes, I…didn’t know. Cullen didn’t tell me before he left.”

“Had a domestic, have you?” She glanced at her, Elicia unable to keep the sad truth from her face, and Sera huffed, amusement dropping from her face instantly. “Piss, I was kidding on. Thought the guards had mistaken passionate War Table sex for a dust-up. You’re not supposed to argue, you know. Supposed to be all lovey-dovey and shite.”

Under different circumstances, she would have had a witty reply to Sera, something equally as cheeky, but she could not find it at that moment. “Whether we are supposed to or not, we have.”

“S’pose it’s natural though, innit? Be boring if you just gave in to each other all the time, still different people. Wouldn’t be very Inky-like at all to let him walk all over you.”

“I do not feel very Inquisitor-like at all recently.” That stark admission caught Sera unusually off guard and she stared at her.

“You still look like her, ya know. Just with a little extra round the middle.”

“Sometimes, or to some people. To others, all they seem to see is that little extra…” She gestured at her bump, before falling quiet. “I’m afraid.”

“Of what? You’ve got all the guards in Thedas here, ain’t even another archdemon could get to you if it tried. Think the message might have crossed the Fade not to bother though, by now. ”

“Not of that.” Her fingers plucked at the soft material of Cullen’s shirt, mumbling in near shame.  “I…what if this baby comes and I forget how to be anything other than a mother? That sounds awful, doesn’t it? I can hardly concentrate as it is. I am struggling, Sera, and the baby is still months from being born. I want to be a mother, Maker I do, but…”

“Not _just_ a mother?” The shared gaze answered what Elicia could not bring herself to. “Wouldn’t blame you, right enough. Baby puke and poo and creepy songs all day long. More to you than that.”

“Maybe that is unfair to this baby. I want to be my best, for them, that is the least that they deserve, but I’m not sure what ‘best’ is anymore… And it is not the baby’s fault that everyone around seems to think I am incapable of looking after myself, even if they trusted me to save the entirety of the continent.”

“Forget you’re Inky? Impossible, innit.”

“Sometimes it feels as though Cullen already has.”

“Cullen’s special though, yeah? He’s not just normal people, not to you.”

“Maybe I am just overreacting…”

“Ovary-acting. You know, because…” She caught the raise of Elicia’s eyebrow, and snickered. “Never mind. I’d be well pissed if I’d just saved their sorry arses and now they thought I was little again. Growing a person, should be another thing to add to your list of ‘kick arse skills’, gotta be hard. You’re gonna find a way to be everything, because you always do. But Cully…” She leant back against the headboard, huffing to herself before looking at Elicia. “He’s Commander Sullen, right? Meant to protect everyone and have an army and that. But he’s got you, and he wants to see you be happy, and you’re up the duff, but you’ve also got people needing you to be the Inquisitor and do Inquisitor things, and the last time that happened, well…Coryphifish and doom and the sky tried to rip itself a new arsehole. And you’re tough, way tough, taking on that hall of idiots, still keeping Thedas in one piece, you don’t stop. He can’t stop you being tough because that’s who you are. But how’s he supposed to protect you from all of that shit? Because that’s what he’s meant to do, as a used-to-be-a-Templar, as a Commander, as your husband. And that’s what he wants to do, cus he loves you and stuff.”

Elicia’s eyes cast down to the steaming mug in her hands, chewing on her lip once again. Sera was right, of course she was right. Wasn’t it what she had been telling herself, before the anger kicked in? _From a place of good._ On hindsight, she’d far overreacted, and whether she blamed the hormones or not, it was the truth. 

“I…said something I shouldn’t have. Said it in far too harsh words and…I was wrong.“

“Don’t have to be wrong just because he don’t like it.” Sera said it very matter-of-factly, and Elicia paused, before mumbling into the mug as she took another sip.

“I…I was still wrong. I…overreacted. Said some awful, awful things. I saw he was prejudiced, against the mages. Told him he was acting like a Templar, to cut a long story short.” She glanced to the lithe girl at her side, frowning heavily, shoulders sinking. “I regret every word of it, and I would not blame him for being furious with me for a long time.”

Sera looked to her, and the soft, sympathetic look in her eyes was one she had seen only a handful of times. “We all say things we don’t mean, yeah?

“It’s not fair, not at all. He was under a lot of pressure last night, he was tired, it was not the time to discuss such things. Besides…he is not that man anymore. Maker, he’s not even the same man I met after the conclave. Or the man that objected so vehemently to us harbouring the rebel mages. He’s…different. He wouldn’t…he truly wouldn’t think like that anymore. And what I said was…”

“Course not. He’s pretty soft, ain’t he? Maybe that’s why he wears the armour all the time. Thinks it makes him tough. But really, just other people filling his head with stuff and he’s butter on the inside. Besides, doesn’t wear that Templar skirt no more.” Elicia managed a snort of appreciation, raising an eyebrow as she took a slight sip from the mug.  “Can’t like each other all the time. You can kiss and make up. Still got his ring on your finger and his baby in your tummy, at the end of the day. Just one argument.” Sera’s words finally wrung another soft scoff from her, and the elf grinned delightedly. “See? You can think he’s an arse sometimes and still love the grumpy bugger.” 

“I never said I didn’t love him.”

“Ew. Think I was a bit sick in my mouth then. Anyway, you going to drink that cocoa or what?” She caught the guilty look on Elicia’s face, and snorted with a roll of her eyes, pushing herself from the bed and throwing her hands to the air as she headed towards the stairs. “I get it. What’s he do to make it that special, spit golden snot in it? There’s gratitude for ya.”

Elicia giggled, curling the covers around her lap as her eyes followed the departing Sera. “I said thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get some rest, you. And cheer up. Can’t be having you sullen too. Would be terrifying.”


End file.
